Keep Talking
by drapetomaniac
Summary: Dexter Grif didn't want him to stop yelling. Dick Simmons didn't want him to stop talking. Rated M because things get dirty. Grimmons.


Pairing: Dexter Grif, Dick Simmons

Length: One-shot

A/N: It was 5am and I just started writing away. First smut-ish thing _ever,_ as well as my first Grimmons fanfic. Its sloppy and OoC simply because I suck.

Summary: Dexter Grif didn't want him to stop yelling. Dick Simmons didn't want him to stop talking.

* * *

_That fucking jackass._

Simmons sighed as he stared at the mess on the kitchen dining table. What a useless bastard! He thought refilling ammunition was the laziest the orange soldier could get, but apparently not. _Apparently_ this bastard couldn't walk five steps to the damn bin!

"GRIF!" Simmons yelled in frustration, "you lazy-ass! How many times have I told you to throw away your trash?" Simmons scooped up all the rubbish from the table and threw them in the bin. _It was only four steps!_ He was done with his behaviour. This was too much. How lazy could he possibly be? Simmons was fed up. He'd woken up in an already bad mood due to lack of sleep, and now he was just done. Before getting armoured up, his first objective was to tell the lazy fat-ass off.

"Grif!" He yelled as he stormed down the corridor. "Grif, you dick! Why can't you learn to clean up after yourself?! You're such a disgrace and I'm tired of having to pick up after you!" He finally reached his room and banged on the door. "Grif! Open up so I can yell at you!" He waited a few seconds and knocked again. He could hear something strange when he pressed his ear against the door; he was definitely in there. After no reply, he turned his door knob and forced himself in. "Dexter Grif, you piece of disgust-" Simmons froze dead after opening the door halfway.

With his back facing him, Grif sat on his bed shirtless. Simmons gawked at the sight presented to him. Grif's legs were spread apart with the zip to his jeans opened. Proudly standing up straight was his cock and wrapped tightly was a firm hand, stroking it up and down.

"What the fuck?" Apart from being slightly turned on, this only fuelled Simmons anger. The fucking bastard was here jerking himself off like he had all the time in the world when he could been doing something damn useful for the team for once. "Really Grif? Really? You're here getting off? You have nothing else better to do? Because I could read out a fucking list of what you could be doing instead. You're a piece of shit, you know that right?"

Grif groaned and his head rolled back, stretching out his neck. "Again," he growled out, as his hand began to fasten its pace. He leaned back and used his free hand to support himself. "More," he whispered so lowly that Simmons nearly missed it.

_More? More what? What more does this asshole want? _"What? Seriously Grif, what the fuck? I'm tired of your shit and I hate you. I didn't think you'd be this low. You're a disgusting waste of space. You've definitely earned the lowest position in this team; possibly, this whole canyon. Even Caboose looks good next to you. At least he can pick up after himself. You're just a lazy piece of shit and you only care about yourself. I fuckin' hate you so much." Simmons exploded with his face red of embarrassment and rage.

Grif moaned out Simmons name as his shoulders shuddered and he released all over himself. Simmons shut up. He tried to process through his brain that it was actually _his name _that rolled off his fellow soldier's tongue. That was when everything clicked. _Grif was jacking off to Simmons yelling. That sick fuck!_ Simmons immediately wanted to get himself out of this situation. What had he done? He'd started off his morning raging at Grif and basically just walked in to help pleasure him to his climax. Grif held his arms by his sides to help support himself as was taking in sharp breaths. He was steading his breathing as he leaned his head back, eyes closed. "You're a sick piece of shit, you know that right?" Simmons slammed the door shut and escaped down the hallway with his pants much tighter than before.

-:-

Simmons spent the whole day avoiding Grif. He still couldn't comprehend _what the fuck happened_. Every time he could hear him, he'd rush behind walls and objects in order to hide himself away from the lower rank. Even while walking through corridors; if he had the slightest hint that Grif was coming towards him, he'd dash in the opposite direction and wait for minutes until he was sure it was clear.

He was not ready to face the soldier just yet.

He spent his day behind the base, busying himself with jobs that weren't even due until weeks later. As well as avoiding the Hawaiian who had no intention in participating, work also acted as a distraction to the growing bulge in his pants. He couldn't help it! The man was jerking off to Simmons' voice! The memory of his teammate kept returning. He kept picturing his topless chubby torso, how he bit his lip and rocked his head back, his exposed neck and the sweat that formed on his forehead, the sound of the moan as he released and how fast his damn hand was...

His erection twitched. _Goddamnit! He was meant to be angry at him_! Luckily, no one could notice his issue. The troubled expression he wore and growing tent in his pants were hidden behind armour.

"Simmons!" Simmons jumped at the sound and turned around.

"Yes sir?" Sarge popped around the corner to check up on Simmons.

"We've got tools missin' and I can't repair the warthog without 'em!" Sarge didn't continue his request, knowing that his current best soldier would know what to do.

Simmons sighed. "I'll find them sir," he mumbled as he headed back to the base.

-:-

Simmons took the last piece of armour off and ran a hand through his hair. He'd worked unnecessarily hard today, but managed through it. He contemplated over just sleeping without washing up but knew that he had to fix a small problem. He gazed below his torso; a certain, _big_ problem.

With a towel draped over his shoulder, he made his way over to the bathroom. A cold shower sounds great right now. Before he could reach out for the door handle, the door opened before him releasing steam from the room and presented a wet and once again topless Dexter Grif.

"Simmons?" He spoke, nearly as surprised as Simmons himself. He stared at the maroon soldier as if the events from the early morning never happened. _Maybe it didn't happen,_ Simmons tried telling himself. "Hello," Grif greeted in a husky voice. _Nope. How the hell did Grif suddenly sound so much sexier?_ Grif laughed at expression plastered across Simmons face. Priceless.

"Hello? Fuck you, Grif! What the fuck?" Simmons' glare averted on the drop of water that raced down his plump stomach to the towel that hung loosely around his hips. He forced his gaze back to his eyes.

Grif noticed the action, "like what you see?"

"Shut up!"

"Someone's grumpy." Grif replied in his normal tone.

"What did you expect, you jerk! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Alright, you caught me. I confess. You're incredibly hot when you're angry and I love jacking off to your voice." Grif raised his arms in surrender, a usual signal being used by the so-called soldier. He had a lazy lopsided grin spread across that dumb face of his. "Happy?"

"Grif!" Simmons didn't know whether he yelled in annoyance or shock from his confession. He didn't know how he was supposed to react to this. Why did he have to be so damn casual about this? Then again, Grif lived carefree. He was jealous he couldn't do the same and annoyed at the fact that this was bothering him so much.

"Oh, don't tease me Simmons," Grif joked teasingly. Grif mirrored Simmons' previous action and his eyes travelled down. "I see you have a problem."

"Don't," Simmons warned, but to no avail. Grif was already taking steps forward and before he realised what was happening, Simmons was pinned against the wall. Grif rested his palms beside Simmons' head and stood so close that their bodies pressed together at every angle and curve and he could feel Grif's hot breath against his neck.

"I can help, if you'd like," Grif murmured without breaking eye contact. Before he could answer back, Grif ground his hips against Simmons which caused him to stifle out an involuntary moan. The Irish-Dutch pressed his lips tightly together to repress any other sounds and squirmed between the male and the wall. "Is that a yes? I hope so. You look so rock-fucking-hard that a goddamn hammer couldn't nail you down. So what do you want me to do, _Simmons_?" Simmons tightly shut his eyes and faced away, attempting to block out the perverted ideas that played in his mind. "Would you like me to give you a hand job? I'd be glad to stroke you up and down until you came all over my hands. You'd long for my fingers for _days_."

Simmons was balling his hands into a fist tightly at his sides and dug his fingers into his palm. He was struggling to hold himself back from exploding in his pants. As if Grif's dirty talk wasn't enough, every time he spoke, he exaggerated his words with a rock of his hips. His cock rubbed against his and the friction was driving him crazy. Just the fabric of his pants and the towel that barely hung onto his hips separated them.

"Or would you prefer me to use my mouth? Do you want me to suck you off until you can't see straight? I'll take you whole and swallow you down my throat. I'll wrap my lips around your cock until you see white." Simmons was on the tip of the edge now. Grif brought his lips closer to Simmons' ear and whispered in a low voice. "Otherwise, I'll fuck you against this wall right now. I wouldn't mind fucking a dude, not if it's dude who's as fucking sexy as you are. I'll pin you against the wall and fuck you in that tight ass of yours. I wanna hear you moan and scream my name. I'll pound you into the wall and paint it with your wet, hot cum."

That was it. The jerk just _had_ to keep talking. With the last grind of his hips, Simmons burst in his pants like a high-school virgin seeing a pretty girl for the first time. Simmons cried out and took in a deep breath while covering his eyes with his arm. He couldn't bear to look at him now.

"Well," he could hear the victorious smile in Grif's voice, "it looks like it took care of itself." Grif's hot breath backed off and Simmons' body could finally breathe. "Night Simmons!" Grif's footsteps trailed off and although Simmons couldn't see, he knew he was holding back a laugh with a smirk wiped across his face.

Now Simmons was just a mess in his pants and red in his cheeks. He needed that damn shower now and would worry about how he was going to face the Hawaiian another time.

_That fucking jackass. _


End file.
